Deliverance
by Kelllie
Summary: Gap filler.  Chained in the megaron at Ephrata, the minister of war ponders his son's fate at the hands of Attolia


Disclaimer: Not mine. No, no, no. Not at all. MWT owns the characters, the underlying story, the brilliance, etc. and so forth. I merely borrow the characters from time to time (with neither malicious nor pecuniary intent).

**Deliverance**

**by Kelllie**

How did one do this, and maintain a sense of dignity?

He considered the question and shifted his weight on buttocks long numb from sitting straight-backed on a cold, stone floor. The smells of mud-caked clothes, fear, and sea brine were oppressive, the vast hall airless despite the open porch. He listened closely. Between the clinking and shifting of chains and the whispering of prayers, he could just make out waves crashing against a rocky shore.

He had forgotten the megaron stood on a bluff overlooking the sea. An understandable oversight, as he had never intended to set foot in Ephrata.

He glanced at his hands, cuffed and chained, and flexed fingers that were turning blue. A small part of him longed to pitch forward, slump-shouldered, and hang his head in defeat like the boy seated before him. But he could not do so, knowing he held the hope of deliverance in his hands.

Deliverance. It was a dignified-sounding word. Yes, he would call it deliverance. And perhaps, in time, he would even find solace in it. But not now.

He pulled his knees up and offered his shins as a support for his son. This small comfort he could offer. At the touch, Eugenides turned his head slightly and leaned back against him. The boy's face was cut and muddy. A tendril of blood snaked from his cheek over his jaw, to the hollow in his neck where his pulse beat strongly. From there, it disappeared under the iron collar that sat low at the base of his throat.

The collar was much too loose for the boy.

The minister of war cursed the realization and shifted his weight again, careful not to disturb his son. He was stalling, he knew that. Playing for time, savoring the last moments of… what? Fatherhood? Raising this child had been a role far beyond his grasp. A paradox for a man accustomed to either excelling at things or washing his hands of them. As Eugenides's father, he could do neither. It was the cruelest of dilemmas.

He closed his eyes and tried to quiet his mind, tried to find peace. Yet he heard only the echo of a Mede voice, raised above the din of battle. "_Peace_ _now_, _Eddis_!"

Had there been some missed opportunity there, some path yet overlooked? He allowed his thoughts to drift to those dark moments earlier on the hillside.

"We needn't cede. Eddis will come," he'd told his son. "War will find a way." The statement carried a meaning far greater than the sum of its words. It limned their contentious relationship, precious years spent quarreling over the barbarity of bloodshed, with Eugenides arguing for anything in its stead: love, hope, trickery… anything to avoid becoming a soldier who waged war and, thereby, perpetuated it.

"War will find a way," his father had repeated.

Eugenides had turned to face him, then. In doing so, he'd taken in the blood that ran freely from the hilt of his father's sword, the bodies of soldiers that littered the hillside. With an effort, he'd leveled his gaze at his father, then shook his head and turned away. "Peace!" he'd yelled to the Mede, and he'd cast his sword to the sodden ground. Around them, countless Eddisian swords had followed suit and spattered into the mud.

"So much for the foolproof plan," the minister of war muttered under his breath. He hadn't meant for his son to hear the comment, hadn't intended such venom to color his words.

But Eugenides had heard. He'd turned back to his father and flashed a wan smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I never called it foolproof… but I'll thank you very much not to underestimate the ingenuity of fools." He'd paused to consider his next words very carefully. "I never make stupid mistakes-"

At this, the minister of war glanced briefly at his son's missing hand. Eugenides had followed his father's gaze and added, earnestly, "-only very, very clever ones."

The minister of war barked a short, sour laugh and followed his son's eyes to the tent that held the source of his wrath. Yes, the gods were surely taunting him now. _Take your son, whom you love. Your youngest and brightest. Take him to the land of Attolia and give him up as an offering… _But Eugenides's fervent whispers had pulled him back to the moment. "You'd best not follow in my footsteps," he'd said, cryptically. "I…" – and his voice stumbled as the Mede soldiers crossed the muddy clearing – "I tend to run into walls."

And so the minister of war had quickly stepped away, and prayed for his son. He'd prayed to the gods his son had praised so freely and, yes, had argued with so freely as well. He'd prayed to the gods his son felt so compelled to entertain with his antics, _certain_ that they were always watching him. He'd prayed, "_If you are watching him now, help him. Deliver him from this fate._"

And the gods had blessed him with an answer. As the iron collar was shackled around his son's throat, his warrior's eye had noted, with an awful certainty, that an opportunity had presented itself. The collar was too loose for the boy. And then, out of the countless soldiers in the vast hall, he'd found himself seated directly behind Eugenides, with strands of chain at his sides...

The gods be damned. They lurked behind each blessing like a barb.

Shaking the night's memories from his mind, the minister of war brought his thoughts back to the cold megaron, back to the ancient architecture that remained dark and dour even in the dawn's light, and again he silently pondered the question.

How did one do this, and maintain a sense of dignity?

He clenched his shackled hands into fists to stop them from shaking and reached forward to gently steady them on his son's shoulders. Steeling himself, he glanced to the soldiers on either side of him, then grasped a length of chain in each hand and draped the links across the back of his son's neck, allowing a loop to dangle down each side of Eugenides's throat. Had the iron collar been a proper fit, the chains would not have reached the tender skin where his pulse beat quick and strong. The act was nearly silent, only a quiet, metallic clink betrayed his intent. But in that clink, he heard the sound of the gods' caprice unfolding on earth. He had taken countless lives today, but that his son would be his last…

Eugenides responded by stiffening, then relaxing. He inhaled deeply, then nodded, lifting his chin to allow his father to gather the chains in hand and quietly twist them together. He did not look back.

The minister of war imagined his son's eyes growing wide as he tightened his grip, as cold metal bit into soft skin. Unconsciousness would come in a matter of seconds as artery and vein compressed. Death within a matter of minutes. Deliverance from an afterlife spent deaf, blind… mute.

Swallowing down the hitch in his chest, the minister of war – no, the _father_ – allowed his tears to flow freely. Perhaps dignity was overrated.

He did not see the lieutenant stepping briskly toward him.

The blow, when it came, was blinding in its intensity. All was dark for a long time.

. . . . . . . . .

His eyes opened to the faded pattern of the cracked, stone floor. Painted curvilinear lines, darkened by time and worn by centuries of footsteps, intersected and diverged in time to his pounding head. The minister of war stared at the pattern, oblivious to the movement around him and the whispers of the worried soldiers who watched him, until awareness emerged. He quickly levered himself onto an elbow and the room righted itself with a painful, nauseating loop.

Eugenides was seated a few paces away, knees pulled up, propped against a red painted pillar. For long moments, the minister of war watched the rise and fall of his son's chest.

Was it a dream?

If so, it was a nightmare. In a flurry of movement, Attolia stormed across the megaron, her skirts whipping at her ankles. She stopped in front of Eugenides and tapped her toe. In her face, the minister of war saw cold malice, and fury. Failing to get a response from the boy, she snatched him up by his hair. It was a ruthless act, meant to shock and terrify and belittle, the act of a black-hearted queen. She spoke to Eugenides, spitting insults and threats, and then dropped him cruelly, and returned to her throne.

Eugenides shook his head to clear it, slowly turned to his father…

And grinned.

Oh gods. His son had finally lost his fragile grasp on sanity.

But the look that followed was not that of a madman. It was a look of astonishment, enormous relief, and hope.

"Alas, always so quick to underestimate the ingenuity of fools…" Eugenides said, pointedly.

And then he turned to watch the queen. As she spoke to the Mede ambassador and her captain of the guard, Eugenides's face grew sober. He turned to look at his father again, and then his gaze drifted away, as if he saw something only visible to himself. Eugenides frowned, deep in thought, then pulled his head up to watch the captain of the guard speak to his lieutenant and two Attolian soldiers.

The minister of war turned and looked, as well. To his surprise, both the guard captain and the lieutenant pointed directly at him. The lieutenant fished a small key from a jangling loop, and handed it to the soldiers. As one, they stalked toward him.

At this, Eugenides grew agitated. In a low, fervent voice, he said to his father, "Attack. Attack now." Seeing the confusion in his father's eyes, he added with some desperation, "Bring Eddis. _War will find a way._" It was the most sensible thing his son had said in a very, very long time.

What it _meant_, however, he hadn't a clue.

It was only later, after he'd been marched from the megaron with the Queen's cryptic words painfully orbiting his thoughts, and ushered through the ranks of Mede soldiers surrounding her, that the whispered words of his Attolian escort made Eugenides's meaning clear.

"Make haste, sir. You're our only hope for deliverance."


End file.
